How I Met the Z-boys: Redux
by green.pepsi.cola
Summary: Calypso, or Cal/Caly for short, comes home one day to find a dazed skater sitting in her pool. Attempting to secure said skater for medical attention and treat some minor injuries, she offers an exchange of her empty pool for the summer. Little does she know, she's just invited herself into a world she thought she'd left behind.


A/N: I've decided this character/story is going to tie into the 'Unwanted' series, which I am currently re-writing as 'Re-write Destiny'. It takes place between chapters 2 and 3, so if you're interested in reading the entire 'story' in order, read 'Re-write Destiny', chapters 1 2, then this one-shot, then 'Re-write Destiny', chapter 3. That's the updated version of 'Unwanted'.

 _How I Met the Z-Boys_

I'd just finished off my day working a long shift at the Treasure Trove Garage (why it's called that, I have no idea; it's just my job); stepping out into the sun, I tilted my face upwards for a few moments, pausing to close my eyes and inhale the humid afternoon air. I made my way to the street and climbed into my '68 aquamarine Camaro, placing the keys in the ignition and not bothering to fix my button-down work shirt which had ridden up on the sides, earning myself merciless wolf-whistles all-around from the usual company which usually loitered around the shop as I exited. I also ignored the haphazardly-sliding baseball cap beginning to fall sloppily off my head, as it had been jammed over my brown ponytail to keep it neat in the wind, nor did I bother to remove the smudges of motor-oil randomly decorating my face and arms. My hair - well, let's just say, it was about as brown as a mudpuddle. My eyes scanned the road for errant skateboarders and hooligans as I reached for the radio; immediately as I'd turned onto Venice Boulevard, _'Dancing_ _in_ _the_ _Streets_ ' blasted through the speakers, and a very uneventful drive home ensued.

I'm not gonna lie, when I got home and flopped my messy self onto my couch in the living room of my small, run-down white house with blue trim, I did not expect to see a long-haired, blonde… somebody sitting dazedly in the dead-middle of my pool, facing away from the back door. A broken, blue skateboard lay discarded about five feet away from them.

I was mildly surprised; sure, I let the little kids in the neighborhood swim in the pool when it was filled, fulfilling the illusion of my being a friendly and helpful neighbor, but now it was empty thanks to the current drought which swept the area. Their presence made absolutely no sense. They - I couldn't really tell their gender from the back - were holding their shoulder as if in pain. Me, being the sweet-natured person I am, who just happened to have taken a first-aid class at the Y (despite being completely wiped out from working my Venezuelan arse off), stood to see what was up – er, down.

"Can I be of assistance?" I asked cautiously, like store clerks do in the movies, unaware of said person's mental state at the moment, hands at my sides in a non-challenging stance.

What else was I supposed to do, leave the little skate rat out there and have a lawsuit slapped in my face by his over-eager parents? It was a guy, I'd realized as he turned to look at me. My inquisitive, concerned hazel eyes met his insanely blue ones; those eyes. Lord, to this day I swear they looked right through me, piercing my soul with their burning imprint. 'Icy stare' doesn't even begin to cover it; I now knew how it felt to, in an instant, be read like a book, classified, and placed on a shelf within 2.5 seconds of meeting another human.

Only, this shelf wasn't comprised of wood; it was comprised of social status. Sure, my house wasn't exactly the epitome of clean; in fact, it was quite messy if I say so myself. But, it wasn't a total dump. I mean, I could afford the pool he was currently sitting in, couldn't I? Not to mention, by the way he was dressed, how he looked, and what he was currently doing, he couldn't have been in a much higher social bracket than me. Maybe that wasn't the kind of appraisal I'd just gotten, but it certainly felt like it.

"Don't need any help," his voice rang out finally after an uncomfortably-long pause, sullen and determined. I could now tell I was working with a tough, stubborn, slightly-egotistical kid of indeterminate, but relatively young, age.

"Sure, you don't. You'll just pop that shoulder right back into place all by yourself, easy as pie, huh? I'll bet. I gotta medical certificate, if you change yer mind, _vato,_ " I continued, smoothing the front of my work shirt subconsciously. I tried again: "Why doncha come in, and we'll see what we can do for ya?"

"I said I don't need help, _girl_ ," he sneered; going to act tough, this one.

"Excuse me, but I believe I'm quite a bit older than you… so, no need to call me 'girl'," I tossed up some air quotation marks around the word for emphasis. When he didn't respond, I added a simple, "suit yourself, _boy_."

If he was going to be that way, so could I. I went back in through the sliding door, leaving just the screen pulled shut, and snickered to myself as he attempted to fix his shoulder by repeatedly slamming it against the side of the pool at the wrong angle. It was definitely popped out of the socket, I could tell, but he only succeeded in hurting himself further. Before walking deeper into the house, I added, "change yer mind, kid, I'll be inside." I shook my head, mumbling "lil' maggot" under my breath.

This was my last-ditch attempt at persuading him inside using words; I wasn't about to push further. If I was going to help him, I'd have to take other measures. When I continued to get no response, I went in to get the first-aid kit, just in case he decided to stop being so stubborn. From what I could see, he had a bruised lip, cuts or scratches on his forehead and cheek, and a scrape that, oddly enough, resembled nail patterns on his arm. Oh, yeah, and then there was that case of the slightly-drowned ego. I proceeded to the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge. I set both on the coffee table in the living room, in front of the low couch, making sure they clinked on the glass loudly and were placed in plain view for anyone in the pool area. My instincts told me the beer might tempt him, coaxing him in by mocking silently from the table, as I headed toward my bedroom to change.

I emerged from my bedroom twenty minutes later, re-entering the sitting area to find him sitting on my couch, still nursing his shoulder but occasionally drinking from the half-full bottle clutched in one hand. The other bottle sat, empty, on the table in front of him. Glancing down, my eyebrows shot up into my hairline as I realized the bottom of the kid's feet, which were crossed and resting carelessly on my coffee table as he slumped into the couch with terrible posture, were completely black; he wasn't wearing anything on them. Did this guy skate around shoeless?

"Hey, one of 'em was for me…" I trailed, tearing my eyes away from said appendages and giving him another good once-over. "How'd a little grommet like you end up in my pool – my _empty_ pool – in the first place?"

Despite being twenty-five, I pretty much still had the wardrobe of a teenager, and I had a tendency to act like one, too. I liked to think this might endear me to a wider range of people. Take my appearance, for example. My waist-length hair was Dutch-braided into two plaits, and I was wearing an old, green military work shirt with cuffed short-sleeves, the kind that buttons down, which I'd tied it up at the bottom. I'd paired it with an extremely-flared pair of light-blue jeans, my black 'Treasure Trove' baseball cap over my braids, and a couple wood-and-macramé bangles on my wrists, along with my dark blue Converse hi-tops on my feet. You see what I mean?

I hadn't expected him to answer, so I jumped a bit when he actually did. "Skip kicked us out of Zephyr 'n everybody scattered. Yer pool was closest so I'm here."

It was simple, but at least it got him talking. "Oh, Skip? You skate for him? Haven't been into Zephyr in ages…." I was hoping to distract him for a moment.

"Yaaah, bro, it's wicked! Surf on the regular, too– fuck! Damn, couldjya have warned me?!" He practically screamed as I took a firm hold on his shoulder and popped it effortlessly back into place in the middle of his sentence.

"Nah, ya wouldn'a let me fix it then, and it'd hurt a helluva lot worse," I defended as he glowered at me. "I swear, it would've!"

"So what, get attacked by a cat, or something?" I asked after a pause, looking from his forehead to his cheek, and finally the scratch marks on his arm.

"Or something…" He answered vaguely. I waved the bottle of peroxide I was holding in front of his face.

"If I give ya another beer 'n let ya skate my pool whenever, will you let me help with those?" I asked hopefully, motioning toward his arm and face in-turn whilst perching on the arm of the couch with some gauze in my hand. It was in my nature to try to triage and fix medical non-emergencies, due to my brief training. I had no idea what I was getting myself into in that moment.

"We – I mean, _I_ – can skate yer pool any time, if I let ya help?" He asked curiously, his eyebrows raising in his sharp face as he glanced at me with an intense sort of shifty-eyed side-glare.

See? How did I know he was going to want something in return? I hate to say I told you so, but… I told you so!

"Calypso," I offered my hand.

"Jay," he answered, tapping his knuckles to my hand awkardly.

Unfortunately for me, he did show up again, and it wasn't just him. oh, no. He brought friends - lots of friends. On Saturday morning, my day off, I was rudely awakened at 8:30 to the sound of screaming coming from my front lawn. Someone was quite impatiently pounding on the front door; I recently learned it's never good to answer the door in your underwear (don't ask me how), so I decided to get at least partially-dressed. I shimmied into a huge pair of black watch-plaid lounge pants and tossed my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, wrapping my sweatshirt around my frame over my tank top before shuffling to the door. It was cool out; the sun hadn't quite warmed up yet, so it wasn't blazing hot. I was met by a blast of cool breeze as I opened the heavy, oak front door; maybe someone had lost their dog.

Someone had indeed lost multiple dogs, I decided as I pulled it open. My eyes just about popped out of my head at the sight unfolding before me. Jay stood on my front stoop, a new skateboard held innocently between his hands, behind his back. A bunch of kids were milling about on the street and my front lawn, some skateboarding, others not. Some kid was sitting in my barren flower garden, tossing wood chips at another kid who was inexplicably doing acrobatic tricks in front of him. He was currently walking on his hands, his legs practically bent over his head as Jay opened his mouth to speak.

"Good morning, Calypso, and dontchu look finely this nice Saturday?" He greeted suspiciously, using pretty silly phrasing, if you ask me.

I gave him an incredulous look, taking in the myriad of antics going on behind his skinny, knobbly frame for a moment before slamming the door in his face. I glanced into the hall mirror; my hair looked like I just stepped out of a category 5 hurricane despite being in a bun, my sweatshirt and pants were three sizes too big, and I had gross trails of mascara and eyeliner running randomly down my face from lack of energy the night before, not to mention a drool path coming from one side of my mouth. I still had motor-oil smudged across my nose and cheek from the previous days' work.

He impatiently pounded on the door with his fist again, causing me to jump and remember what I was doing. I paused a few seconds before re-opening it. "Call me Caly, please. What were you saying, Jay?" I asked, like the previous events didn't just transpire, dragging my sweatshirt sleeve over my face to wipe away the dried drool and hopefully fix some of the other problems I had going on.

"Came over ta skate, brought friends. Ya said we can skate whenever, right?" He answered, his face taking on an uncharacteristically hopeful look.

I was awestruck, speechless at his words. I'd told him so to placate him when he was injured, and he showed up within the very same week, the entire neighborhood in tow?

I hesitated a few moments before sighing with finality.

"Fine, fine. But if the pigs show up with noise complaints, I ain't hiding all you maggots. And, I want _proper_ introductions. No lawsuits, neither. You're under verbal contract, Jay, and all your lil' friends too," I snapped, opening the door wider.

"Girl, none of us got _familia_ that's rich enough for lawyers!" A curly-haired someone shouted, giving me what I would later determine to be his signature smirk.

I growled at him to not call me 'girl' again. Again with this 'girl' thing?

Ten minutes later, I'd been introduced to nearly every single person he'd brought. Let's see… there were too many to count. Very first, (I was sure he was passing the best ones through first, to make a good impression) there was Stacy, with his long, blonde surfer-dude hair, ocean-blue eyes, and tall, medium-to-lanky build. Next, Tony: the one who'd talked back to me before; curly brown hair with streaks of blond, washed out by the harsh sun, brown eyes, wiry and muscular (I was warned he'd chase anything with legs, including other people's mothers), with his girlfriend, Blanca, beside him. Mostly, she looked like she wanted to kill me, until I reassured her I had no interest whatsoever in the Tony kid; she had long, loose, chocolate-brown hair that curled slightly and honey-tinged, light eyes, and I figured due to her reaction that she'd probably been burned by her boy Tony more than once. The first three kids noisily clomped through the house, heading straight to the backyard.

The front-runner of the next group was Tony's sister, Kathy. She was a best friend of Blanca; cute, with long, brunette hair streaked through with blonde, of average height and build; she'd offered me an orange from the tree in my front yard as she walked past, following her brother. Shogo was a good-looking Asian dude, normal height with long, black hair just past his shoulders and kind brown eyes. He was pretty difficult to understand, mumbling some Japanese curse words when he couldn't come up with the proper English equivalent to the words 'diving board', which I had in my pool. He was closely followed by Peggy: the first girl I'd met to actually skate on the team, who was kinda short, with dark, browny-black hair and brown eyes, who was also Asian. She seemed the artistic type. Red Dog, a.k.a. Jim, had a mop of a long, reddy-blond haircut and blue eyes; from the back, I mused as he passed, I could easily have confused him for Stacy. He was on the tall side, but not as tall as the afore-mentioned blonde who'd towered over me as he passed. His best bud was Biniak, a squirrelly-looking kid who acted all macho and twitchy around me, yet another bleach-blond with gray eyes, a little on the shorter side, apparently known for his addiction to hitting top-speed wherever he went. These characters all disappeared into my home, skate equipment in hand, and I began to worry at the sheer number of names and faces of which I'd have to keep track. There were some little, tagalong kids, probably younger siblings whose names I do not remember, who dashed past me and into the house, followed by two blonde, bimbo-like groupies Jay dragged in at the last minute, calling out the names 'Amanda' and 'Rosie' (accompanied by an added aside which consisted of "I think...", whispered under his breath with a gulp and mischievious grin as they passed).

Next came a round consisting of a few oddballs. The first was Wentzle: a shorter kid who looked like he was about fifteen, or something; he was yet another long-haired, bleach-blond, brown-eyed kid who appeared to be pretty unassuming. I would later learn he was just short, closer to seventeen, and in fact a pretty enterprising individual. He was followed by a little squeak of a kid named Arthur, or something, who had a perpetual frown on his young features, but was otherwise unmemorable. And then, there was a dude they called 'P.C.', because his first name was the same as someone else's, and his surname was ridiculously long.

My head began to spin as I was self-introduced to the youngest in the group, aside from Jay. Last but not least, was Sid, introduced as 'Baby Sid'. He looked pretty grungy overall (which really made me wonder if he was trying to compensate for something), with wavy, shoulder-length brunette hair and big, brown eyes, of stocky build and medium height, and klutzy as all hell. Upon walking through the kitchen, he almost knocked over a vase, then managed to also trip over his own two feet and sprawled over the threshold of the sliding glass doorway.

After the longest introduction of my lifetime, and an aching shoulder from shaking so many hands and giving multiple high-fives, I was finally confident no one would be smashing their heads in immediately. That meant they could at least handle themselves for half an hour so I could shower and properly dress.

"No raiding my fridge, Jay," I warned, "I _will_ make you all some sandwiches when I come back out, if you ask nice and supply some help. But the minute one-a you gets seriously hurt, yer all outta here. Got that?"

Jay snorted, shoving down a giggle. "Yes, _ma'am_ ," he answered smartly, his voice dropping low and gravelly in a mocking tone as he pretended to snap to attention and saluted to me using only his middle finger. I wasn't even going to bother arguing with this kid today, it was just too early.

I grabbed the first items I found on the floor in my closet (I really needed to do laundry), which ended up being a black t-shirt advertising some random surf-wax, a pair of ripped, faded old jeans, and a dark blue bandanna, which I planned to wrap around my head to camouflage my horrible shower hair. I headed quickly toward the full-bath.

"Get out," I stated flatly as I opened the closed bathroom door to boot one of the blonde girls and Shogo, who'd been sucking face in there.

They both exited sheepishly, and I locked the bathroom door behind me. Yeesh, this was gonna be more complicated than I'd bargained for, I had a feeling. Letting the hot water run rivulets down my body, I sighed to mentally prep myself for the fallout I was sure to find when I emerged. I heard a loud 'crash' emanating from the living room, and sent up a prayer it hadn't been that expensive vase Sid had almost creamed earlier (probably rated the most-expensive thing in my house).

Jumping out of the shower once I'd finished, I didn't even bother to fuss with looking for my shoes. All I bothered to do makeup-wise was slap on some basic mascara and black eyeliner. I tied my hair up into another messy half-up bun, putting the bandanna around my forehead and under the ponytail in the back.

When I exited and returned to my living room, I spotted Tony (the creep I was warned could very well try to get into my pants) turning my stereo on full-blast, letting the bass boom through my house as I turned in his general direction to scold him. My mouth popped open to say something, but then I noticed a flash of blonde fly past my sliding glass window outside in the back. I glanced at him, then snapped my mouth shut as I distractedly spun on one foot in the direction of the commotion outside. Tony pulled Blanca to his chest and started sucking face with her. Horny teenagers!

Stepping through my back door onto the veranda, my eyes were met by a sight that could only be described as an area that had been recently affected by a natural disaster.

At that exact moment, the blob of kids all screamed "WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU, MA'AM!" along with the Bowie song that was just pulling to a close, which drifted loudly from the house. Soon, the opening bars of 'Funk #49' blasted my eardrums as I surveyed the throbbing, crazy milieu of craziness in front of me.

There were people everywhere, people who hadn't been there in the first place, screaming and skating, chasing each other, some guy slinking around with a camera glued to his face, snapping photos… Kathy, who was quickly being joined by Blanca now, was sitting with the two blonde groupies and another, dark-haired chick with whom I wasn't familiar.

Following a brief pause, during which I picked my incredulous chin up from the ground, I was forced to break up a squabble between Biniak and Jay, who had collided mid-run and were now standing angrily in the middle of the pool. Biniak's hands were curled into tight fists at his sides, and much-shorter Jay was holding his skateboard high above his head like a bat, looking like he was fixing to whack the other boy with it as I glared at them both with my hands on my hips.

"Jay, fucking seriously, cut it out. Break it up, or get out," I threatened, pointing to the front of my house not willing to play any stupid games today.

"But, Caly…" Jay began, ready to argue with me. I cut him off a stern look.

Both clammed up immediately and went their separate ways. Craig, the photographer who had been snapping photos of the boys the entire day, inadvertantly had his camera pointed at us that exact moment. Til years later, I wouldn't realize my little go-round with Jay and Biniak had forever been captured in film, my finger pointing sternly toward the gate and all. I watched Jay wordlessly follow my pointing and disappear through the gate, probably to go blow up elsewhere.

Some kid I hadn't recalled meeting before began circling me slowly on his board. "Unless you're secretly part-hawk, or a stalker, I suggest you stop, little creep," I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.

The kid stopped directly in front of me, standing way too close for comfort. His shoes nearly touched my bare toes.

"You're hot - what's a 'hot mama' like you doing around here, anyway?" He asked.

I did not appreciate this 13-year-old kid harassing me right now. Who was he, anyway?

"Look, I live here, and I'm 25, so don't even think of trying anything on me. I _will_ knock you flat on your skinny little maggot ass. I ain't a babysitter, so if yer gonna keep harassing me, ya needa leave little man."

The kid scowled at me as if I'd slapped him, but eventually went to sit by the pool with his legs dangling in, pouting like a two-year-old. I sat in one of my patio lounge chairs with legs crossed, sketchbook in my lap.

That Stacy guy popped out of the pool where he'd just finished a run, grabbing the other lounge chair next to mine. "Okay if I sit here?" He asked, already having parked his butt in the chair.

"Knock yerself out," I answered, not looking away from the skating kid whom I was currently sketching.

"Hey, that's not half-bad," he peered down at my work so far. "Red Dog's hair's a little longer, though," he added, pointing to the page for emphasis. "More like mine."

I grabbed my eraser and removed some of the hair I'd already drawn, drawing the rat's nest a few inches longer.

Suddenly, Tony-freaking-Alva appeared out of nowhere, putting his foot up on my chair and snatching the drawing pencil out of my hand. "Ay Carly maaan, you were really harshing on Baby Paul. Real brutal, put 'im in his place good! Ay _chica_ , you got any beer in this place?"

"Boy what do you think this is, a tiki bar? First of all, it's 'Caly', not 'Carly'; and secondly, beer? D _efinitivamente no es para ti. Ahora vete de aquí_! Skate or go suck your girlfriend's face, ya swimsuit-stealer," I retorted, pulling the triangle bikini top he'd swiped while riffling my drawers from his front pocket before re-claiming my pencil and shoving him away from the chair. He took my advice and bailed from the conversation, jumping into the pool with some of the other skaters, who were taking turns seeing how much air they could get over the sides of the pool.

A few minutes later, Peggy approached. "Uh, someone said somethin' about sandwiches?" She asked, walking over from where she'd been waiting to drop in, sitting with her legs dangling into the pool.

"Oh, yeh – c'mon, you can help me," I answered as I stood and walked into the house, and she wrinkled her nose but followed me. She grabbed Kathy's arm as we passed to drag her inside, too. Red Dog trailed after Kathy, and we had a good little assembly line set up for peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.

After a few hours, the crowd began to thin to mostly people to whom I'd been introduced. And that was when Skip showed up again. We'd hung out years before, and we'd kind of been a 'thing' once upon a time; we hadn't been dating for a long time, and I probably hadn't spoken to him in a few years.

"Cal," was all he'd said when he saw me, before pulling me up off the chair and bringing it in for a hug.

That summer, when the kids on the team (and Kathy and Blanca) weren't surfing, skating, or bumming around down at Zephyr, they would spend most of it at my house. I went to most competitions, as a kind of dual-chaperone along with Skip and Stecyk, who continued to photograph them. I started spending more one-on-one time with Skip again; we talked a bit, partied a bit, surfed a bit… and rekindled our relationship. And to think, it all started when Jay Adams stumbled upon my pool and knocked his shoulder out of the socket, after getting in a fight with a chick.


End file.
